


Ticklish Tipplers

by Shadowheartdesigns (shadowkitten)



Series: Smoke and Mirrors [1]
Category: Princess Principal (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Drunk Sex, F/F, Pillow Talk, Spoilers, The other girls have cameos, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-09 07:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12271485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowkitten/pseuds/Shadowheartdesigns
Summary: "Drink with me," Dorothy says, filling the glass sitting in front of Beatrice. "But if you don't feel like drinking, then at least stay with me while I do."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place "during" ep 12, after the resolution of Case 24 and before the Epilogue.
> 
> They talk about events that take place during the series so "spoilers."
> 
> Rating for most of the story is high T to low-mid M, depending on one's feelings on the topic of underage (by modern standards) drinking. May increase to E once the actual sex happens, depending on how explicit I think the descriptions get. Hate to mention this at all because "Spoilers!" (/River Song voice) but I can see it being potentially problematic for some. It's better that you know where the story's going.

Beatrice shivers. The air is crisp and cold here above the clouds. The western horizon is turning red, and stars are just starting to appear off to the east. She hears footsteps behind her. She turns.

"Good evening, Beato," Princess smiles. She sits in a wheelchair, heavy blankets piled up to her neck. Ange pushes the chair slowly. Her cheeks are red, though Beatrice can't tell if it is from the weather or ....

"Good evening Princess! Miss Ange. It's such a beautiful night."

"Too cold," Ange complains.

"Nonsense," Princess responds, glancing up and back. "You just want an excuse to take me back to my cabin."

Ange's cheeks turn a brighter red. 

Princess turns her attention back to the younger girl. 

"What are you doing up here tonight?" 

She shrugs. 

"Well, last time I was on an airship, I didn't really have the luxury of taking in the view." 

Ange, face still red, shows the faintest of grins. 

"It was not exactly the most pleasurable of flights," she agrees. 

Princess laughs softly. 

"Still, it's good we found you here, Beato." 

"Princess?" 

Ange nods. 

"Dorothy has requested to speak with you." 

"Miss Dorothy? Is anything wrong?"

 Ange gives a small shrug, but Princess shakes her head.

 "She didn't say anything of the sort."

 "Where is she?"

 "In her cabin," Ange replies.

 "Ah. Well, thank you. I guess I'd better go see what she wants."

 Beatrice turns to leave.

 "Now," Ange says, "as we have found her, may we go somewhere warmer?"

 Beatrice hears Princess chuckle.

 "I want to watch the sunset."

 "The sun has nearly set already."

 "I want to watch the stars come out, then."

 Beatrice forces herself to go on, despite instincts nagging at her to try to convince a stubborn Princess that nothing good can come from an injured person staying out too long in the cold air.

 Leaving the promenade deck, Beatrice shivers one last time as the door closes behind her. The heat of the airship's interior corridor briefly becomes oppressive. She loosens her scarf and coat.

Her mind turns to Dorothy. The older girl ... no, it's fairer to call her a young woman. Beatrice looks up to her. She's mature (when she wants to be) and pretty, smart and really good at everything (though again, when she wants to be). Most of all though, Dorothy is care-free. Beatrice can't think of a time when anything bothered her. Where Ange and Princess had obvious weaknesses in one another, Dorothy simply had a rock-steady core of confidence.

To think that something might be wrong bothers Beatrice.

As large as the airship is, the passenger cabins are not very spread out. It takes only a few minutes to reach Dorothy's cabin.

Beatrice spots Chise standing in the open door of her own cabin. She turns when she spots Beatrice, and smiles.

"Good evening, Beato."

"Ahh, Miss Chise! Good evening."

"Dorothy-san has been looking for you."

"Yes, Princess told me. I was just going to her room now."

Chise nods once, seriously.

Beatrice, doubly curious now, eyes Chise for another moment. She considers asking the Japanese girl what is wrong, but decides against it.

Beatrice knocks at Dorothy's door. She notices Chise, still standing in the door of her cabin, watching her closely.

"Come in. It's open."

She tugs the handle, and pushes it open. She sees Dorothy sitting on her bed. Their cabins are more or less the same: a small but comfortable bed, a table with two padded wooden chairs, a wash-basin along one wall beneath a small mirror, a painting on the wall depicting a skyscape, and a small round window, covered by a curtain. There is an additional cabinet beside Dorothy's bed that isn't in Beatrice's room. She sees rows of glasses, and an ice-tong hanging from a wooden peg. Beatrice guesses the closed door hides bottles of alcohol.

Beatrice steps inside, hanging her coat and scarf by the door.

"Good evening, Miss Dorothy. You ... you wanted to talk to me?"

Dorothy nods, and gestures toward the table. Beatrice sits. Dorothy rises from her bed, and closes the cabin door. Locks it too, Beatrice notices. Curious.

The young woman walks over to the cabinet, She grabs two small glasses, placing one in front of Beatrice, the other in front of the empty chair. Then Dorothy opens the cabinet door, and pulls out a tall, thin glass bottle filled with an amber liquid. She places the bottle in the middle of the table, then finally sits in the chair opposite Beatrice.

"What is this about," Beatrice asks again, looking uncertainly at the bottle.

Dorothy doesn't answer right away, instead easing the cork out of the bottle. She lifts it, and pours a measured amount into Beatrice's glass, then fills her own. She places the bottle back down in the middle of the table. She doesn't bother pushing the cork back in place.

"Drink with me."

"Miss Dorothy? I ... I don't think that would be a good idea. I'm only fiftee ...."

Dorothy reaches over and places a fingertip over Beatrice's lips. The younger girl stops talking, but her expression still coveys uncertainty.

"I don't want to drink alone. Not tonight."

Dorothy sighs, and pulls her hand back. She picks up her shot glass.

"But if you don't feel like drinking, then at least stay with me while I do."

Beatrice looks at Dorothy's face for a long moment. Then with a sigh, she looks down at the glass in front of her. It's filled with a light amber liquid. It doesn't foam like ale, or steam like tea. She isn't quite sure what it is, but it is certainly not anything she's had before.

"I ... suppose one wouldn't hurt," Beatrice says in a quiet, tentative voice.

Dorothy nods. She holds her glass out toward Beatrice.

"Cheers."

Beatrice picks up the glass with her fingertips, and taps it lightly against Dorothy's.

" _Santé_ ," she responds, with less timidity than she feels.

Dorothy raises the glass to her lips and, tilting her head back, drains it in one gulp. She slams the glass down on the table with a cry of satisfaction.

Beatrice places the rim of her glass against her bottom lip, and tilts it. She manages to swallow down half of the acrid, choking, liquid brimstone, before setting the glass down with a grimace and a faintly pathetic mewling sound.

"Smooth, huh?"

Beatrice glowers at Dorothy.

"How can you drink this?!"

Dorothy laughs.

"It gets better, trust me."

She fills her own glass.

"C'mon, at least finish that."

Beatrice, with a shudder, lifts her glass, and manages to force the rest into her mouth.

"There ya go. I'll make you a lush in no time," Dorothy jokes.

Beatrice glares at the glass in front of her, as Dorothy refills it.

"Miss Dorothy? What is going on?"

She shrugs.

"Feel like talking."

"We can talk without the drink."

" _You_ can, maybe."

Beatrice looks at Dorothy closely. The older girl shrugs, and picks up her glass.

"One more?" Dorothy asks quietly.

Beatrice grimaces, but lifts her glass.

"One more. Then please tell me what's going on."

" _Kanpai!_ " Dorothy exclaims, draining her glass.

Beatrice mutters something, before reluctantly drinking most of the fluid.

"What _is_ this stuff?" she chokes.

"Scotch. Twelve years old. Best booze you can find in Albion. Kingdom or Commonwealth."

"Foul," Beatrice grumbles.

"It grows on you," Dorothy smirks.

"So does mold," Beatrice grouses. Dorothy laughs.


	2. Chapter 2

Beatrice forces herself to drain the rest of the Scotch from her shot glass. It leaves a smoky aftertaste in her mouth. She could really use some tea or something to get rid of that.

"Now, please talk to me?"

Dorothy refills both glasses. Beatrice sighs, exasperated.

"Beato. We've been going non-stop for a while now. Been too busy to think about anything but the job."

Beatrice's expression softens. She looks up at Dorothy, who gives her an earnest, if sad, smile.

"Now, at least for a while, we've stopped. Have time to think. I don't know if I can really _handle_ thinking."

"Miss Dorothy? Please understand, you can talk to me at any time. About anything."

"Yeah. I know. That's why you're here, and not Ange. I don't know if you've noticed, but she's all business with me."

Beatrice nods.

"Can't talk to Princess. I swear the doctor that pulled the bullet out of Princess also sewed Ange to her hip."

Beatrice giggles softly.

"They're not that bad."

"Close enough. And Chise ... I adore her, but she doesn't always _get_ what you're saying."

Beatrice shrugs with a soft sigh. She looks down at her glass.

"And I'm not saying that you're the best I can come up with either. I do actually wanna talk with _you_. Just ... well, I'm telling you why it's you here tonight. With a glass of whisky in front of you."

Beatrice glances up at her, and to her own surprise, reaches out and takes that glass.

Dorothy belts down her shot like a pro. Beatrice manages to drink hers in one go.

"See? Getting used to it!"

"It's made my mouth and throat numb. I can't taste it any more."

Dorothy laughs.

"Whatever works."

"It's going to melt my voice box!"

Dorothy just laughs. She fills their glasses again.

They sit there for a moment, full shot glasses untouched in front of them.

"You know, I was looking forward to seeing ... Prefect again. I had hopes that we would be wrong about her. That we'd get the so-called mission over with, have some drinks, maybe spend Christmas together. And then maybe ... I don't know."

Beatrice says nothing. Not certain what to say. She reaches out and picks up her glass. Holds it, regarding it. Watching the liquid inside move back and forth as she tilts the glass.

"But that didn't happen. Instead it was exactly what we thought. And Ange ... God damn her. There are times I just want to slap her."

Beatrice, wide-eyed, looks up at Dorothy. The older girl picks up her glass and downs the shot in it. Beatrice, heart racing, does the same.

"She can be a cold-hearted bitch sometimes. Did she really think it'd spare my feelings? Arranging her to blow out her brains so I didn't have to? The hell is that? Thinks _that_ is gonna spare my feelings? _Fuck_ me."

Beatrice winces at the heat in Dorothy's voice. She is feeling distinctly uncomfortable now. She raises her glass, only to notice that it is empty.

Dorothy fills her own glass, and immediately downs it.

She looks over at Beatrice, sheepishly.

"Sorry," she whispers, filling Beatrice's glass.

Beatrice gulps down the drink, and Dorothy immediately refills both glasses.

"It's ... okay. I guess ... I mean, she wasn't bothered by it. I suppose she thinks that you wouldn't be. I think. I guess I really don't know very well, Dorothy."

Dorothy sighs. She raises her glass, and Beatrice does the same. They tap their glasses together, though without a cheery toast, and then drink.

"You're getting the hang of this I see," Dorothy says in a lighter, teasing tone.

Beatrice just nods, not really feeling up to bantering now.

Both glasses are refilled again.

"So. I mean, I've lost people. A _lot_ of people. Too many. I mean, my dad was a piece of shit."

Beatrice frowns.

"You shouldn't really use that kind of language, Dorothy. Especially not about your own father."

"It's true though."

Beatrice shrugs, not really able to deny it.

"Still. He was trying. In the end, he really was trying. He was shitty at it, but he was trying. If he hadn't had his face ...."

She winces.

"Had to claim his body, you know."

Dorothy and Beatrice both down their shots. Then Beatrice reaches out, and places her hand on Dorothy's arm.

"You should've let me come with you."

"Nah. You're too squeamish. Would've spent your time getting sick over everything."

_God knows I did,_ Dorothy didn't add.

"I would still have come along," she whispers.

Dorothy places her hand over Beatrice's.

They sit like that for a moment.

"I just don't wanna lose you too, Beato. I mean, I thought that I had a few times. But I don't wanna lose you. Wanna tell you. I mean, tell you that I care. That you're ... you're great, and I don't wanna lose you like I did them."

"I'm not going anywhere though," Beatrice whispers.

Dorothy fills their glasses. They both drink.

"You coulda. Bullet to one side or blade just a few more inches here or there, and then where would I be? _You_ be. I mean ... you."

"I know. I guess ... I think that if anything had happened to you that I ... it would be ... I mean, that I don't wanna have anything happen to you either."

They are quiet again. Dorothy glances down at her glass.

"Empty," she sighs. Then she looks at the bottle.

"Say, Beato ... coulda pour out another one for me?"

Beatrice nods and lifts the bottle. It was more empty than not now. She pours the liquid into Dorothy's glass, sloshing some on the table top. Neither she nor Dorothy seem to notice. Then Beatrice refills her own glass, and places the bottle back down.

They drink. Beatrice blinks and looks at her empty glass. Blurry. It was blurry. But she wonders why she had hesitated before. It really wasn't hard at all ... just tip the glass and let it burn down into you.

"Beato?"

The younger girl looks up at Dorothy. She looks blurry too.

"I care about you."

Beatrice blinks. Dorothy's eyes come into sharp focus.

"I care about you too."

Dorothy smiles.

"Good. Then. Yeah, good. Don't go nowhere. No getting killed, understand?"

Beatrice nods, her expression serious.

"Okay, Dorothy. You either."

"Deal. Now, more Scotch. My big toe's still sober."

Beatrice giggles, and pours out two more glasses, emptying the bottle.

They drain their shot glasses. Beatrice shifts uncertainly in her chair.

"Well. I guess that's that."

Dorothy shrugs.

"I should probably get back to my cabin anyway," Beatrice continues.

She starts to stand. She wobbles unsteadily, gripping the chair for support. She blinks, and swallows once, before releasing her grip on the chair. After another wobbly moment, she sits back down.

"After we get out of this turbulence."

Dorothy grins.

"Turbulence?"

Beatrice nods.

"The floor's ... it's moving. Can't tell where I'm supposed to step."

Dorothy laughs.

"The floor's not moving Beato. You're tanked."

She frowns and glares at Dorothy.

"I am not! I just need to ... catch my bearings, that's all."

Dorothy shakes her head, with a soft chuckle. She stands up, and walks over to the liquor cabinet. She retrieves a second bottle, similar to the first, and places it on the table.

"Um. I don't know if I should have any more. I think I do just wanna go back to my cabin."

"Please at least stay, Beato. I mean, if you don't wanna have any more that's ok. But, stay?"

Beatrice sighs heavily. She looks up into Dorothy's eyes. They remain in sharp focus, even if the rest of the room is blurred. After a moment, she nods.

"Thanks," Dorothy whispers.

She pushes the two shot glasses to one side, and places fresh glasses on the table.

"Why new glasses?"

"Different whisky. Don't wanna mix up the flavors or anything."

Beatrice frowns.

"Even if I had more I doubt I'd notice something like that."

Dorothy pours a glass for Beatrice, and one for herself.

Beatrice picks up the glass, and looks at it.

"It's okay, really. You stay here tonight. Don't worry about it. Just ... don't go."


	3. Chapter 3

The second bottle of whisky sits in the middle of the table. It is full, minus the contents of the shot glass in Beatrice's hand, and the one in front of Dorothy.

"Just ... don't go," Dorothy says. Pleads.

Beatrice sets her glass back down, and looks up at Dorothy. The young woman looks fragile. Like she'd break in half if Beatrice actually did try to leave.

Beatrice wobbles to her feet, managing to move over beside Dorothy without collapsing, and wraps her arms around her shoulders.

"Dorothy," she whispers. "I will stay."

Dorothy's arms are around Beatrice's waist, her face buried in her hair. They remain like this for a long moment, before breaking the hug.

Beatrice nearly collapses backward. Dorothy hooks one arm around Beatrice's waist, again. The younger girl blinks.

"Ummm. I think I better stay sitting."

Dorothy snickers.

"Totally not tanked."

Beatrice whines.

"I am _not_ tanked."

"Totally not," Dorothy teases.

Beatrice pouts, and plops back down into her chair. She picks up her shot glass and raises it in a very deliberate manner.

" _Salute!_ "

Dorothy giggles, and taps her glass to Beatrice's

" _Salute_."

They drink.

Beatrice's face screws up and she shudders.

"Smoke," she gasps.

"Yeah, this one's a bit more peaty than the other."

"Peaty?"

Dorothy smiles.

"Smokey. I could explain, but I really don't think you're interested in that right now."

Beatrice shrugs, and sets her glass down.

"Dorothy?"

"Hmm?"

"You know, my father, how he ...."

She places her hand on her throat.

"Yeah."

Beatrice takes a deep breath. Her face turns red.

"He ... he says he did me a favor."

"Of course he does," Dorothy responds, an edge to her voice.

"Ahhh, no. He ... he actually did though."

Dorothy narrows her eyes.

"By experimenting on you?"

Beatrice shrugs.

"I ... was mute."

Dorothy blinks.

"Wait ... you mean .…"  
  
"Please don't tell the others!"

"Beato, I won't. But ... why do you think it'd matter to them?"

Beatrice shrugs.

"So ... I mean, he _did_ experiment on me. But if he hadn't I wouldn't be able to talk. Or ... hear."

"What? You were deaf?"

Beatrice nods.

"The first thing I ever heard were my own screams."

Dorothy shudders.

Beatrice raises her shot glass to her lips, and tips it back. She looks confused for a moment, before realizing that the glass was already empty. She places it back on the table, and gives Dorothy a sheepish look.

Dorothy refills Beatrice's glass, and then her own.

"So anyway, now you know why I'm so good at reading lips and noticing details and things like that."

Dorothy nods. Not sure what to say, she drains her glass. Beatrice does as well.

They sit for a moment, before Dorothy stands up. She blinks, wobbles, and grabs onto her chair.

"Dorothy?"

"Turbulence," she explains. Beatrice nods, understandingly.

After a moment, Dorothy is able to stand on her own. She walks over to Beatrice, leans down, and wraps her arms around her. Beatrice returns the gesture, burying her face into Dorothy's abdomen.

"Dorothy." Her voice is muffled.

"Yeah?"

Beatrice sniffles.

"Dorothy," she sobs.

Dorothy closes her eyes. Tight. It isn't enough to keep the tears from flowing down her cheeks.

Beatrice pulls herself out of her chair, and the two shift positions slightly. Beatrice's face buries into Dorothy's shoulder, while Dorothy nuzzles against Beatrice's hair.

"It hurts, you know," Beatrice says quietly.

"What does?"

"Just ... not being normal I guess."

"Shut up. You're lovely."

"But ...."

"No buts. Okay? You are a beautiful young woman."

Beatrice nods, not even trying to hide her sobbing.

She pulls away, with a sniffle.

"Ruined your shirt," she blubbers.

Dorothy looks down into Beatrice's eyes.

"Don't care, silly."

They hold each other's gaze for what seems an eternity. Eyes red and swollen. Tears staining their cheeks.

Beatrice swallows, and shifts uncertainly. She reaches out, cupping Dorothy's cheeks in her hands, and leans forward. Dorothy blinks, but doesn't flinch back.

Their lips touch. Barely brush together. Beatrice gasps quietly, her face turning bright red. Dorothy has a slightly shocked look on her face.

She doesn't pull away when Beatrice presses her lips to hers again. Firmer this time.

Beatrice's heart races. Dorothy's lips are firm and tender, sweet and soft. The feeling of them on hers sends electric shivers down her spine. And then she realizes in shock that far from merely returning this kiss, she had in fact initiated it.

The kiss breaks, and Beatrice sighs. Shivers. She isn't certain what to say, or to do. When Dorothy leans back in she does not hesitate for a second. She all-but coos as their lips meet.

Dorothy places a hand behind Beatrice's head. Gentle but firm, Beatrice shivers again at the realization that the older girl is taking control.

The kiss deepens. Beatrice feels off balance, physically and emotionally, but she doesn't pull away. Her hands have slipped down to Dorothy's shoulders. She grips her blouse tightly.

Dorothy's tongue slips in between Beatrice's lips. She feels dizzy. Feels as though she is falling backward, and can't stop. Her tongue meets Dorothy's, tentatively running along the top surface, until Dorothy pulls her tongue back into her mouth. Beatrice's follows, and a fresh shock of sensation blasts her senses as Dorothy lightly sucks, and playfully nibbles.

The kiss breaks, leaving Beatrice panting desperately for air. Dorothy looms over her, gazing down with wide and hungry eyes. There is a tinge of fear in Beatrice's stomach, but another emotion is far more prominent. Overriding. It's a rough, raw feeling. Like nothing she has ever felt before.

She feels abject disappointment when Dorothy releases her, closes her eyes, and takes a very deep breath. When they open again, Dorothy's eyes show fear and uncertainty. She shifts awkwardly, and takes a step back.

"Sorry," she murmurs.

Beatrice lunges forward, wrapping her arms around Dorothy's body. She nuzzles against her, desperately.

"Please," Beatrice cries, muffled by the fabric of Dorothy's blouse.

Dorothy is caught by surprise. Her eyes widen when she sees Beatrice, eyes filled with fresh tears, looking up at her.

"Beato?"

"It ... felt good," she whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the detail with Beatrice's backstory is admittedly fanon / headcanon. In my defense, it is based on some evidence in the series. I half-expected that they'd go the same place, or similar. They might yet in a future sequel (and I'd happily be wrong in detail in exchange for a sequel, I might add!).
> 
> Slightly shorter chapter. Next chapter will be a little more delayed, most likely.
> 
> The rest of the story is written. All that remains are the rather more sordid details of their night. Hence the previous warnings about the rating potentially changing. If it is good and explicit so be it, if good and less so, so be it too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping the rating at M for now, though it might be borderline. Not honestly great with assigning warning ratings. If it seems to cross into E territory here or in the next chapter let me know.
> 
> Edit: Upon reflection, I've decided to go ahead and update the rating.

Dorothy is caught by surprise. Her eyes widen when she sees Beatrice, eyes filled with fresh tears, looking up at her.

"Beato?"

"It ... felt good," she whispers.

Dorothy's heart pounds in her chest. Her face ... no, her entire body, is hot. She is shaking slightly. Parts of her brain scream at other parts of her brain. A brief sense of guilt washes over her, as the reptile part wins.

She guides Beatrice over to the bed, and the younger girl doesn't resist. Her breathing increases in intensity as she is set down, and Dorothy again leans in. Their lips meet, again sending Beatrice into heady instability. She closes her eyes and focuses on the sensations. Their lips and tongues dancing. Dorothy's hands on her hips. Beatrice's palms pressing into Dorothy's ample breasts. She squeezes, earning a soft sighing moan from the young woman.

She is on her back. She can barely feel the bed beneath her. All that matters is the woman above her. Dorothy's hands work their way under Beatrice's skirt. They are soft and warm, her touch gentle and yet sending painful jolts of energy across Beatrice's skin.

Her hands glide slowly up Beatrice's legs, bare between the tops of her shin-high stockings and the bottom hem of her bloomers. Her fingertips just barely tease under them. Beatrice squirms, her thighs spreading ever so slightly. Invitingly.

Dorothy breaks the kiss, to partly sit up. Beatrice opens her eyes, watches as Dorothy undoes the buttons of her blouse, one by one. Her eyes follow as it gaps open. Dorothy shrugs out of it, tossing it lightly to one side.

She leans back down. Beatrice eagerly meets her lips. Her hands slide under the camisole covering Dorothy's chest, fingertips grazing rough, hard nipples. The contrast, of the linen fabric, the warm soft skin, and the rough, erect nubs, draws a soft moan from Beatrice's lips.

Dorothy chuckles at the girl's reaction, and slides her hands back under Beatrice's dress. Up to her hips. Beatrice shivers, eager. Dorothy frowns, finding further progress up Beatrice's body impossible. She sits up again, earning a soft frustrated groan from Beatrice.

Dorothy, laughing softly, reaches down and teases the buttons of Beatrice's dress open. Beatrice shrugs her arms out of her sleeves. Dorothy pulls the dress up over her head, and tosses it aside, where it settles atop the discarded blouse.

Dorothy sighs in frustration, sliding a finger across the corset that still covers Beatrice's body.

"You have to start wearing clothes easier to take off," Dorothy mutters. Beatrice giggles.

Dorothy undoes the laces, and the corset splits open. The offending garment meets the same fate as the dress.

Beatrice's face is red. Her torso is exposed to Dorothy's eyes. Her breasts are firm and pert, nipples small, delicate pink nubs. Dorothy reaches forward, and Beatrice closes her eyes, (not so) subtly arching her back, inviting Dorothy's hands. Instead, Dorothy places a single hand on Beatrice's chest, and pushes her back onto the bed. Beatrice yelps, opens her eyes, and looks up. Dorothy grins, and Beatrice makes a sound somewhere between a giggle and a whimper.

Beatrice's tummy is trim and soft, and Dorothy's fingertips sliding down send little tremors and goose-bumps along her skin. They reach her navel, stopping to slide back up. Her fingertips tease at the girl's nipples, Beatrice shudders and cries out. Dorothy laughs softly again.

Dorothy pulls back long enough to shrug out of her camisole, which falls unwanted to the side of the bed. She leans back down. Her breasts press into Beatrice's less-developed chest. Beatrice moans, and Dorothy kisses her lips. Quickly, drawing a disappointed groan from the younger girl.

Dorothy presses her lips to the tip of Beatrice's nose. It scrunches cutely, and they both giggle. Then her lips find the flush roundess of her cheek. Kissing softly along the cheekbone, and to Beatrice's ear. She leaves a kiss, and flicks the tip of her tongue across the opening of her ear. Beatrice squirms, leading into a quiet moan as Dorothy's teeth lightly tug at her earlobe.

She leaves soft butterfly kisses across Beatrice's jawline, down to her chin. Beatrice's tongue darts out momentarily, anticipating Dorothy's lips.

But Dorothy hesitates. She swallows.

Beatrice, shivering, opens her eyes questioningly.

Tentatively, Dorothy kisses just under Beatrice's chin. The younger girl's eyes briefly widen in uncertainty. Dorothy, carefully watching her reaction, kisses lower. Beatrice swallows. Dorothy continues, gently kissing her neck, just above the metal band that wraps around it.

Beatrice closes her eyes again. There is an aching contradiction in her heart. She doesn't want Dorothy to stop, and yet ....

The woman plants a kiss treacherously close to Beatrice's clockwork mechanism. She can feel the sudden tension in the girl's body. Dorothy pulls back, just slightly, to look at the device. She raises a hand. Fingertips very softly graze the skin of Beatrice's throat, very near where it creases as it meets the metal.

The girl flinches, with a groan of less pleasurable emotion. Dorothy quickly pulls back, raising her hands to shoulder height.

"Sorry," Beatrice whispers. Her voice is rough and thin.

"No. I am sorry. Won't touch there."

Beatrice's tension noticeably eases, and when Dorothy leans back down the girl is all too eager to meet her lips again.

Dorothy breaks the kiss and, in slow and deliberate motions, shifts her attention to Beatrice's shoulder. The younger girl squirms to feel Dorothy's lips as they rain soft fluttery kisses down her collar-bone, and down between her breasts. Then she trails her lips up along the swell of one breast, just shy of the nipple. Her tongue flicks out quickly, once, then twice, then around in a slow circle.

Beatrice tenses. She shudders, each lick sending a sharp shock down through her body. Just as she is sure she cannot take any more, Dorothy lifts up slightly. Shifts her position, before bringing her lips down and around a nipple.

Dorothy sucks very softly, causing the girl's breath to hitch. Her hands reach out, gripping Dorothy's hair, fingers drawing and tangling in and through. To do something with them. Or she will go entirely mad from the sensations.

Dorothy pulls back again, and with her lips inches above, blows slow, soft puffs of air on the firm, wet nipple. Before she kisses down one breast, up the next, to lick and suckle and tease the next.

Dorothy's hand slides into Beatrice's bloomers, down the smooth soft skin, to a thin tangle downy hairs through which her fingers slip. Again, Beatrice's thighs part invitingly. This time Dorothy does not pull back. Fingertips lightly brush and tease along the slick outer surface of the younger girl's womanhood.

Dorothy once more shifts positions, her free hand tugging the girl's bloomers down. Beatrice raises her hips, both to allow the bloomers to be pulled away, and to press against the fingers teasing at the entrance to her.

Dorothy withdraws her fingers, and Beatrice whimpers. She opens her eyes, to see Dorothy pull the bloomers down her legs. Beatrice kicks them aside.

The older girl, laughing quietly, undoes the buttons on the side of her skirt. It pools down around her knees. Beatrice watches attentively, as Dorothy hooks her thumbs under the waist of her knickers, and tugs down. Her nether hair is well-trimmed.

Dorothy grins widely, and lifts up one of Beatrice's legs. She tugs her stocking down and off, then lifts her bare foot. Beatrice giggles as she feels Dorothy's lips brush it. Dorothy kisses lower, closer to the heel. Beatrice squirms, continuing to giggle. Dorothy laughs.

"Bit ticklish?"

Beatrice pulls her foot free from Dorothy's grasp, only to laugh and squirm again as the older girl picks up the other foot. Dorothy can't help but laugh just as much, as she finds herself fighting Beatrice's urge to escape and avoid the feeling. She eventually yanks Beatrice's sock off her foot, and hurls it away.

The girl's eyes are watering, but she still gazes up fondly at Dorothy. It is a fondness that quickly takes on a sharper, even hungrier, quality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the anime, Dorothy's outfits range from Old West Saloon Girl to Early 20th Century Automobile Enthusiast. Her school uniform didn't seem right in this context either. I finally just said eff it and gave her a casual outfit, more like what you would find from the 1920s and later, and partly lamp-shaded it with the joke about Beatrice's Victorian-style dress being too difficult to take off.
> 
> Also split this chapter in two, partly to get something out in a reasonable time, and partly to keep the chapter sizes roughly the same.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E. Definitely and undeniably E.
> 
> I can't really read this chapter objectively myself, because reasons, so please comment and review if you see anything that looks or seems off.

Beatrice's eyes are watering, but she still gazes up fondly at Dorothy. It is a fondness that quickly takes on a sharper, even hungrier, quality.

"Now," Dorothy says as she leans back down. "Where was I?"

Beatrice squirms as Dorothy kisses just above her navel.

"Ahh, that's right."

Her hand returns to the space between Beatrice's thighs. Her fingertips slide teasingly along her slit. Beatrice closes her eyes with a soft moan.

Dorothy's lips graze her navel, slowly and deliberately traveling down along her belly with soft fluttery kisses and licks. The younger girl's body twitches at each teasing touch. When Dorothy feels Beatrice's soft downy hair tickle her chin, she shifts positions. She graces Beatrice's hip with a brief touch of her lips.

She stops teasing Beatrice's sex. her hands rest gently on Beatrice's knees, as she leans her face in between the girl's legs. She presses her lips against the side of one knee, before slowly kissing up along her inner thigh.

Beatrice shivers. She grips the sheets beneath her. Again, she feels that she will go mad without doing something with her hands. She feels Dorothy's lips tease and tickle and brush up along her leg. The sensations are far more electric, far more pleasurable, than they have any right to be. She moans deeply.

"Good?" Dorothy asks in a teasing voice?

"Mmhmm."

Dorothy giggles softly. Her hand slides off Beatrice's knee, letting her fingertips continue to tease the girl's very sensitive skin.

"So cute," she whispers.

"Doro," Beatrice pleads.

This draws another giggle.

"Something wrong, sweet?"

"Mmm. More."

"Hmmm. More? Like this?"

Dorothy nuzzles against Beatrice's thigh, kissing perilously close to Beatrice's core. She licks oh so very softly along the crease of her leg. And just as Beatrice shivers and groans in anticipation, she pulls back.

Beatrice starts to whimper, but the sound immediately turns into fresh moans as Dorothy's lips press against Beatrice's other thigh. A kiss. A lick. Quick fluttering kisses dancing up along her skin, again teasing but never quite touching her pussy.

"Doro!"

Dorothy giggles softly.

"Doro? Calling me that now?"

Beatrice just whimpers.

"Cute," Dorothy repeats.

And then Beatrice feels Dorothy's lips brush her slit. Her eyes open wide, she looks down. Dorothy nuzzles against her, brushing her lips against the now excruciatingly sensitive flesh of her most private part. Beatrice almost feels overwhelmed from this. She closes her eyes again. One hand grips the sheet beneath her tightly. The other reaches down, gripping Dorothy's hair. The older girl moans softly, her lips vibrating against Beatrice's skin.

Dorothy kisses Beatrice. Kisses her nether lips. Softly at first. Then when she hears the girl gasp, feels her hips push forward to press Dorothy against her more, she deepens the kiss. Her lips make the same motions, with the same pressure, as when she kissed Beatrice's mouth earlier. And her tongue just barely slips out. Teasingly at first. Then more firmly, until Beatrice can feel it moving inside of her. She freezes for a moment. Her breath catches. Both hands clench.

When she breathes again, it is a loud and sharp exhalation infused with passion.

Dorothy focuses on Beatrice's expression, her face barely visible. What she sees is no surprise: The girl is bright red, her eyes closed tightly. Her mouth hangs open, and she is gasping for air. Every muscle is tense.

She giggles very softly, which itself draws a shiver and moan from the younger girl.

Dorothy now brings her hands up to Beatrice's sex. Fingertips spreading her nether lips. She looks. She drags the tip of her tongue over Beatrice's clit hood. She can feel Beatrice shudder beneath her. She presses her tongue against Beatrice harder. Flicking the tip. She can just barely feel the hard little pearl of her arousal.

She moves her tongue faster. Her clit becomes more obvious. Dorothy captures it in her lips. Sucks softly.

Beatrice's hips press back. The girl is overwhelmed with the rising sensations. She cries out. Her skin is bright scarlet. Her breath catches. She gasps, and cries out again. She shudders. Twitches.

Dorothy can feel the energy as it first rises, then ebbs. Her sucking slows. She slides her tongue down, to the opening to her deeper core. She gently explores Beatrice's anatomy.

"Doro," Beatrice murmurs.

"Hmmm?"

Beatrice gasps again.

"Feels. So."

Dorothy giggles. She hears Beatrice gasp sharply. She glances up. She can see that the girl is close to coming again. Gently, very gently, she presses her tongue against her opening. She can feel that the girl is still intact.

Dorothy's motions are very slow and deliberate. She forces herself to focus on Beatrice's clit, her labia.

A part of her feels a sudden, sharp stab of guilt. Dorothy's first time had ended in tears and blood. She does not want that to happen now. Not with Beatrice. Not in her current state.

Dorothy's motions slow further. Beatrice's breath begins to return to normal.

The moment is over.

Dorothy pulls away, and shifts her position. Beatrice is still scarlet. An occasional tremor shakes her body. Her breath occasionally hitches.

Dorothy's hands feel so very soft, so very cool, on Beatrice's skin. They caress, rubbing gently along her belly, her sides, her breasts.

"Beato?"

"Mmm."

Dorothy shivers. She swallows.

"Beato, are you okay?"

"Mmmm."

A fresh wave of guilt washes over Dorothy.

"Beatrice?!"

The younger girl's eyes snap open. She looks up at Dorothy, doing her best to focus. Her pupils are dilated, her eyes wander. Dorothy sighs again.

"Are you okay?"

Beatrice blinks once, then nods.

"I'm really tired, but feel really really good."

"Yeah," Dorothy nods. "You don't feel ... I mean, there's no pain, right?"  


Beatrice shakes her head.

"Okay."

"Doro?"

"I'm stuck with that nickname, huh?" Dorothy asks with a laugh.

Beatrice grins. Then yawns, and blinks.

"I'm just really tired and wanna sleep."

Dorothy leans in, kissing Beatrice's forehead softly.

"Okay sweet. We can talk more in the morning. We've all the time in the world ahead of us."

They shift again. Dorothy settles onto her back. Beatrice cuddles up next to her, draping an arm and a leg over her body. Her skin has returned to its natural hue.

Beatrice closes her eyes. She rests her head against Dorothy's breast, snuggling in close as she can. Her euphoria drains, leaving only deep and heavy exhaustion. Her brain winds down. The darkness of her eyelids deepens.

As she drifts off to sleep, certain details of the evening blur out of her memory. Some details blend together, leaving a confused and spotty notion of timing, cause, and effect. And other details sear sharply into focus. Visceral details. The feeling of Dorothy's skin. Her lips. Her fingertips. Her tongue. The slow, almost-agonizing burn and the short sharp jolts.

Most of all, as reality fades away into dreams, Beatrice is left with a profound sense of connection.


	6. Chapter 6

The next sensation Beatrice feels is pain. It starts at her toes, ends at her frazzled hair-buns, and pounds ferociously at every bit of her anatomy in between. She wants nothing more than to close her eyes tighter than they already are and pass back into blessed oblivion.

Then she feels a soothingly cool, soft hand cup her cheek. And achingly familiar lips brush her forehead.

"Morning, sweet."

Beatrice groans, and manages somehow to open her eyes. The light sears into them, and she blinks. Somehow, the sight of Dorothy's eyes, and her face, and the beaming smile she wears, makes it okay.

"Morning," she manages.

Dorothy leans in close to kiss Beatrice's forehead again, before sitting up. Affording her a view of her body, unimpeded by clothing.

Beatrice's face turns very red, but she can't look away. Dorothy grins, and gently caresses Beatrice's bare belly.

Eventually, Beatrice sits up slowly, managing not to explode. She is unsurprised by her own lack of clothing.

"What happened," she mutters.

Dorothy chuckles, and gestures vaguely in the direction of the table. There are two empty bottles, and a third that is a little less than half full. Five empty shot glasses lay on the table. Glass shards and splinters suggest that a sixth had met an unfortunate end on the floor.

"Tanked," Beatrice whispers.

  
"Very," Dorothy agrees, with a grin.

"And we ..." Beatrice blushes, and makes a series of vague hand motions.

"Yeah."

Beatrice takes in a deep breath. Dorothy stands. The bed jostles, and Beatrice groans. It feels like the entire airship is being thrown violently to one side.

Dorothy pulls the mirror above the room's wash basin. It opens, revealing several bottles of tablets and fluids.

"What's that," Beatrice is able to ask.

"Surefire cure," Dorothy explains. She picks up a small glass bottle and shakes out two white pills. Then she grabs two fresh glasses, and pours out a thick white fluid into each one.

"Cure?"

"For hangovers."

"Ah. So this is a hangover?"

Dorothy chuckles.

"Yeah."

Beatrice nods once, instantly regretting the motion.

"Okay. So you take this aspirin, and wash it down with this."

Dorothy places the pill in Beatrice's palm, and hands her the glass. Beatrice looks at the liquid dubiously, and makes the mistake of smelling it. Her face turns green.

"Hey, no getting sick now!"

"What _is_ this? Is it supposed to purge the booze out of me or something?"

"Clam juice."

Beatrice's expression collapses even further.

"Okay, so here's how you do it. Watch."

Dorothy places the aspirin in her right palm, and holds the glass of juice in her left. She pops the pill in her mouth, then pinches her nose with the thumb and index finger of her right hand. Then she drinks the juice down in one go, slams the glass onto the table, and exhales, much like she did last night with the Scotch.

Beatrice glowers at the disgusting fluid in her glass. She takes a deep breath. She pops the aspirin into her mouth. Pinches her nose. Places the glass to her lips, and tilts her head back.

"Makes you appreciate the Scotch, yeah?"

Beatrice, expression similar to that of a wet cat, glares at Dorothy. Dorothy laughs at her.

After placing their glasses on the table, Dorothy sits back down on the bed, behind Beatrice. She wraps her arms around her, pulling her back. Beatrice doesn't resist or try to pull away. She is content to sit, resting against Dorothy. Slowly, the pain eases.

"Thank you," Dorothy whispers.

"Mmm." Beatrice closes her eyes.

"I mean it. I appreciate you staying here last night."

Beatrice doesn't say anything.

"You falling asleep again?"

"No, just very comfy."

Dorothy gives her a gentle squeeze. Then a soft kiss on her cheek. A shiver runs down Beatrice's spine.

They sit for another moment.

"Beato?"

"Doro?"

" _That_ you remember," Dorothy sighs.

Beatrice giggles.

Dorothy holds onto Beatrice for a moment, before continuing.

"Are you okay with what happened last night?"

Beatrice pulls away from Dorothy, who doesn't try to hold her down. She turns and tucks her legs under her, kneeling between Dorothy's legs. She places her hands on Dorothy's shoulders.

"Yeah," she says quietly.

Dorothy smiles.

"Good. I mean, I just got to thinking how bad it might look. From the outside. I call you here, get you drunk, take advantage of you ...."

"You didn't. I actually kissed you first."

"Yeah, guess so. Then again, that's kinda what I do. Make 'em think they're coming on to me, you know?"

Beatrice's cheeks redden. She leans in close. Dorothy's lips meet hers half way. The kiss is quick but earnest.

Beatrice then snuggles her face into Dorothy's cleavage.

"I'm okay with this," she mumbles.

"Okay then," Dorothy giggles. She runs her fingers through Beatrice's hair.

"So ...."

"Beato?"

"What ... what now?"

"What d'you want now?"

Beatrice doesn't answer right away. She places her lips on the soft skin of Dorothy's breast. After a few fluttery kisses, she sighs.

"I guess I want this more. That ... probably sounds selfish."

"Nah. I want it too."

Beatrice shifts position slightly, looking up at Dorothy.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"What ... what do we tell the others?"

  
"Nothing?"

Beatrice pulls back, eyes wide with surprise.

"You don't want them to know?!"

Dorothy shrugs.

"I guess I don't mind if they find out. Eventually."

She smirks.

"I kinda want to keep teasing Ange and Princess about not having boyfriends. That'd stop working if they knew we were together too."

"Oh," Beatice says. She blinks, starts to lean back into Dorothy. Then she stops and pulls back again, looking up at her with fresh surprise.

"Wait ... _too_?"

Dorothy giggles.

"Don't tell me you don't know."

Beatrice frowns.

"Sewn together at the hip?" Dorothy suggests. "Or maybe at another part of their anatomy."

Beatrice squeals and jolts when Dorothy abruptly presses her hand up between Beatrice's legs. The girl blushes a deep red, and Dorothy laughs.

"Like _that_ part maybe?"

"Dorothy!" Beatrice whines, her voice husky.

She teases Beatrice for a moment, then pulls her hand away. Drawing a disappointed whimper from Beatrice. Dorothy laughs.

After a moment, Beatrice finally shrugs.

"I ... I guess I knew. That they liked each other I mean. Not that they were doing ...."

Beatrice vaguely gestures in the space between their bodies.

" ... that."

Dorothy grins.

"Ahh. Well, I don't know if they _are_ or not, to tell you the truth. I'd be surprised if they _don't,_ especially now that we'll basically be on our own."

Beatrice blinks. A look of realization crosses her face.

"We're gonna need our own house."

Dorothy laughs.

"Probably."

"And what will Chise do?"

Dorothy shrugs.

"I don't think she has any idea what romance is."

"I guess." Beatrice sounds unconvinced.

She turns, and settles back against Dorothy. Cooing softly as Dorothy wraps her arms wrap around her.

"Okay. So if we are a thing ...."

"A _thing_?" Beatrice doesn't sound pleased with the phrasing.

"Yeah. If we are, then we need to set some rules."

"There are _rules_ ," Beatrice asks in a surprised tone.

"Sure. Rule one: No getting killed."

"Agreed!"

Dorothy chuckles and kisses Beatrice's temple.

"Rule two: No drinking alone."

"That rule is mostly for you I think."

"No. It's for us both. If I feel like I need a drink, I have to find you instead. Same if you need one. You find me. Then we talk about things. If after that, we still _want_ to drink, we can drink."

Beatrice considers this for a moment.

"If we can't find each other?"

Dorothy shrugs.

"I am a weak woman. I'll settle for Ange in a pinch."

Beatrice sighs, but she is smiling.

"I _suppose_ that is okay, as long as you don't drink alone."

"Deal. However, I fully expect to break this rule at least once. You will need to think of a suitable punishment."

Beatrice thinks, before a mischievous grin crosses her face.

"No sex for a week!"

"I said punishment, not torture!"

Beatrice giggles.

"Okay. Rule three. No other boyfriends or girlfriends. Just us."

Beatrice pulls away from Dorothy and turns to look at her. Her eyes are wide.

"I ... don't know if I can agree to that."

Dorothy looks surprised.

"What? Are you secretly dating Chise?"

"I'm being serious. My relationship with Princess ...."

Dorothy laughs.

"I don't mean _that_ kind of girlfriend, silly."

"Still. I don't _want_ any one else! Just you. Well, it's just that my feelings for Princess make it ... complicated."

"Okay. Rule 3 amendment: Princess is excluded. That doesn't mean you can go around kissing her and stuff though."

"I think Ange would kill me if I did."

"Yeah," Dorothy grins.

And then her expression collapses.

"Oh. Now that I think about it ... I can't follow rule 3 anyway."

Beatrice sighs.

"Rule 3, amendment 2: Dorothy's use of her Womanly Weapons in the Line of Duty is excluded."

Dorothy blushes.

"I mean, I can't really stop. It ... works."

Beatrice cuddles against Dorothy again.

"Yeah."

Dorothy hugs her tightly.

"That is going to make this more difficult."

Beatrice nods.

"We'll be okay though," she says quietly.

They remain like this for a moment.

"Any more rules?"

Dorothy humms quietly.

"Nah. Not for now anyway. Probably think of other things though."

"Doro?"

"Yes, sweet?"

"Can we get going now?"

"What's wrong?"

Beatrice's stomach grumbles, and she squirms.

"We'll miss breakfast."

Dorothy laughs.

"Well, you're hungry. That's a good sign. Bad news though: We've long since missed breakfast."

Beatrice pulls away, her eyes wide.

"What? What time is it?!"

Dorothy picks up a pocket watch sitting on the bed-side table.

"Noon?"

"Ah! We'll miss lunch!"

Dorothy smirks.

"Shall we shoot for missing dinner as well?"


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Or Omake, if you prefer)

"Chise, did you really spend all night watching Dorothy's cabin door?!"

Princess was wide-eyed in astonishment.

" _Hai, Hime-sama_. I fulfilled the duty that was requested of me to the letter."

"Chise, I only asked you to keep an eye out."

Chise blinked in confusion.

"But how could I do so, without maintaining a night-long vigil?"

Princess sighed.

"You must be exhausted."

"No, such a thing was easily accomplished. The hot drink that you call _coffee_ is a true miracle of this world. Besides, there will be sufficient time to sleep, when Beato is no longer in danger."

Princess shrugs.

"I suppose so."

Chise shifted awkwardly.

"May I ask, why is it that you were concerned? She was merely visiting Dorothy-san, after all."

Princess grinned.

"Ahh. Well, I had the feeling that there would be strong drink involved. The last thing that I wanted was to have Beato take a wrong turn in her ... confusion, and fall off of the airship."

Chise frowned.

"I see. I am not certain that I approve of one so young partaking in _strong drink_."

Princess smiled.

"You're less than a year older than she, Chise."

The Japanese girl shrugged.

"I suppose that is true."

"Don't worry though, Chise. I'm sure everything went swimmingly."

The next morning at breakfast, Chise did not see the others when she entered the dining room. She gathered her eggs and sausages (they were better than what Queen's Mayfair Academy had offered in any case), and sat at their usual table.

She finished her eggs and started on her second cup of coffee, without seeing the others. She sighed and ate the rest of her breakfast in silence. 

She would eat every breakfast alone for the remainder of their flight.


End file.
